The Playpen

My son, Dominick, is almost 18 months old. For whatever reason, it’s hard for me to remember where I was mentally when my daughter was his age. Regardless of how hard I try, I simply cannot keep all the events of her life at ready recall, and it sometimes saddens me a bit that they fade the way they do.

I’m nothing if not honest when I write. Granted I have a penchant for exaggeration, especially when a laugh is the desired result. But when it comes to raising children, I feel that being completely forthcoming is the best policy, and that most parents will identify with it in some way.

That is why it doesn’t trouble me too much to admit that I am over babies. I was after my daughter hit her terrible twos. It’s not that I don’t think they are cute and cuddly and its not that I don’t love them when they’re mine. It’s just that I am over them. They require a lot of maintenance, make annoying sounds and don’t really give much back in terms of conversation. For that reason I feel that, perhaps, I have been phoning it in a bit as the father of my son.

I take care of him when needed. Change diapers, hold him, play with him and put him to bed. But in keeping in line with the honesty theme here, I have treated it as more of an obligation than an opportunity. I don’t think he considers me a bad father by any stretch, but I also don’t think I have given him the same attention and love that I gave my daughter at his age.

The other day, however, something happened. He has taken a liking to cars and trucks, especially Matchbox ones. I was sitting on the kitchen floor with him, watching him turn a car over and over in his hands, examining it. We had played the “roll the car along the floor game” many times, but I decided it was time that we pushed the envelope a bit. I placed the car on the floor, my son studying my every move intently, pushed my thumb down onto the top of the car as hard as I could, then flicked my wrist forward, forcing the car to rocket across the floor, down the hallway and into the guest bathroom at lightning speed, finally slamming into the far wall by the shower.

My son watched the car for a moment, spinning on its back in the bathroom, then looked at me wide eyed…staring for a few moments before an enormous smile spread across his face as he broke out into a large, jovial belly laugh. He then took off down the hallway into the bathroom, stooped awkwardly to pick the car up, and ran back towards me, laughing all the way before finally jumping into my harms, prying my hand open and forcing the tiny car back into it. He then broke the hug, stood next to me, pointed down the hallway and waited.

It was at that moment that I realized two things. The first was that he was no longer a baby that gave nothing back in return. He had become a little boy that desperately wanted the attention of his father. The second thing came over me like a whirlwind. This was my son, and I had just taught him how to force a matchbox car to go much faster and much farther. We have played that game quite a bit since and he will likely not forget it. What else had I been teaching him? I try to instill good values into my daughter and raise her to be a courteous, well-adjusted human being, but with my son it is different. I am a man, and he is a boy. He was made in my image.

Immediately all of my flaws and negative personality traits washed over me and I saw an empty canvas in front of me, wearing miniature cargo pants and clutching a metal car. He is my shot, my chance, to get it right. I can teach him to be better than me, to be the type of man that people adore. I can teach him patience, respect for women and the basic concept of putting others’ needs before your own. He is a blank page upon which I can write the most epic tale of adventure, romance and happiness, full of mystery and intrigue, bravery and cunning. As his father I can author the happiest of endings in his life and weave a common thread of goodness and understanding through the various tragic plot twists of life. He is my son, and he is an opportunity to write a best-selling sequel.

Things are different now, and will be from here on out. He is watching me every minute of every day, learning and absorbing. From me and me alone, he is learning how to be a man and, while that bestows upon me an enormous responsibility that I had not fully realized was mine, I am more than up to the challenge.

I love you, buddy. Go get ‘em.

-Matt
There’s a holiday sale coming up at RedSparks. That’s all I have to say about that.

1. Barbara Says:
   November 30th, 2010 at 8:12 am

   You write really well, Matt, still.

   Sweet but I’m not a believer in ‘blank slate’ – he already has built into him traits over which you cannot create (again) but can build on. Just saying.

   (I came here more easily than going through email. Thought of you and wanted to share:
   http://www.socialmediaexaminer.com/8-social-media-trends-impacting-businesses/)

   [reply]